Tied by Fate
by Chesza
Summary: Featuring a slightly eccentric DADA professor, Mages, odd tattoos, weird realisations, and a whole other rnside to magic that everyone thought was dead. HPDM Slash. (UPDATED: 17.04.2005)
1. Dark Lords and Runaways

**Title:** Tied to Fate  
**Author:** Chesza  
**Category:** Harry Potter  
**Genre:** Slash/Romance/Drama  
**Rating:** R  
**Spoilers:** SS/PS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OotP  
**Summary:** Harry Potter always knew his destiny was to battle Lord Voldemort and save the Wizarding World, but he never thought there would be more to his life than that. Featuring a slightly eccentric DADA professor, Mages, odd tattoos, weird realisations, and a whole other side to magic that everyone thought was dead. Slash.  
**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.  
**Author's Note:** Excellent! Chapter one is here! To start off, I'd just like to send out a _huge_ thank you to my wonderful beta-readers **Jenny**, **Paris Potter**, and **Qem**. You guys did a beautiful job on getting this chapter up to snuff. -smiles- Thank you-glomps- 

Also, thanks to you readers out there. Please review! Reviews really mean a lot to my motivation for writing. Superficial, I know. -smiles sheepishly-

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**Chapter One – Dark Lords and Runaways**

It was supposed to be a time of great pride. His father finally thought him capable enough to handle meeting the self-proclaimed 'Great' Lord Voldemort, and that in itself was a high compliment. He should've been proud, pleased, and beaming with confidence that he'd get through whatever the Dark Lord threw at him.

But as Draco Malfoy walked side-by-side with his father down the long, dark corridors of Malfoy Manor, an unmistakable feeling of dread wrapped itself firmly around his stomach. He suppressed an involuntary shudder. Even though his pride was firmly set in his mind, Draco couldn't help but feel that the whole thing was a bit dodgy, something was amiss.

It wasn't until after they reached the deepest, darkest room that was in Malfoy Manor, and having stepped inside to be greeted by a small group of Death Eaters cloaked in darkness and sneering in wicked delight, that Draco began to feel a sudden heaviness.

Somehow, the air in the room seemed to thicken, and Draco felt that he was on the verge of suffocating. Something very bad, very wrong, was about to happen.

Draco and Lucius stopped when they reached the small group of huddling Death Eaters, whose faces Draco knew very well - he had grown up chattering to them as an insolent child. Now those faces, which had once been lit with something faintly resembling amusement, were shadowed in only stony suspicion and a slight tinge of fear.

The group was assembled in a ring. In the centre stood someone whom Draco could only guess was Lord Voldemort himself, even though a strange-looking gentlemen he knew by the name of Nott was blocking his view.

Fighting the urge to run, he followed his father's previous instructions and made his way to the centre of the circle where Lord Voldemort stood in all his glory.

Actually, he stood in what seemed to be a heap of bones and skin as pale as death itself. _This_ was the Dark Lord? The-Man-Whom-Everyone-Feared? The-Man-With-Absolutely-No-Vanity-Sense-to-Speak-Of? If it weren't for the fear gripping his heart, Draco would have scoffed at the outrageousness of it all.

Still, he stood there in front of the supposed 'Dark Lord'. He had been told not to stare directly into the Dark Lord's eyes, for that showed superiority, and the Dark Lord was inferior to no one. However, Draco couldn't suppress the urge to meet his "master" face-to-face. Grey eyes, almost challenging behind a veil of frightened curiosity, met with red eyes so cruel and wicked they should have only been seen in a ghoul in a nightmare.

Draco could sense the unease at his action in the surrounding Death Eaters. The Dark Lord, however, merely regarded him carefully, his eyes searching and contemplative.

"Draco Lucius Malfoy," murmured the Greatest-Wizard-Since-Grindelwald.

Draco fought the urge to say, "Your Majesty," in a mocking voice. He wondered vaguely where were all of these disobedient thoughts coming from.

"Draco, your birthday was this past Christmas, am I correct?" asked the wizard in a slithery-smooth voice.

Draco quirked a brow, unsurprised. "Yes," he replied, and as an afterthought added, "sir." He didn't feel quite comfortable calling him "My Lord" especially since, by all accounts, he was not "His Lord".

"And how old are you now?"

"I am sixteen, sir," he replied politely, if coolly. Draco had the suspicion that this man already knew every answer before he even had a chance to think of it.

"Sixteen, a fine age," the dark wizard commented. He began to circle Draco, obviously looking him over. "You are of good stock, just like your father."

Draco's chin jutted out proudly. "Thank you, sir."

"Your father tells me you have proven yourself capable of becoming one of my Death Eaters. Do you believe you are ready?"

"To become a Death Eater, sir?"

"Yes."

"A servant, you mean?" he asked with a hint of disdain.

"In some ways, I suppose you could call a Death Eater a 'servant'," the Dark Lord admitted.

Draco's lip curled. "I was once told that a Malfoy is _never_ a _servant_," he replied, spitting out the word "servant" scornfully.

"_Draco_!" hissed Lucius from behind him.

The Dark Lord chuckled – a sound that caused Draco to suppress a tremor of fear passing through him. "You have great pride, my boy. You are most definitely a _Slytherin_," Voldemort spoke with neither pride nor rancour. "However, you haven't answered my question: do you believe you are ready to become a Death Eater?"

"I don't believe I have much choice in the matter, but if you mean am I willing to fight for the superiority of the pure-blood race, then yes, I do believe I am," Draco replied, fighting to keep his voice even and bored – a very hard thing to do when trembling from head to toe.

"Excellent. Has your father informed you of the ceremonial process?"

"Ceremonial process?" Draco asked curiously. He had always envisioned some sort of ceremony, but as his father hadn't mentioned it, Draco had assumed he had been mistaken. However, the fact that his father had completely neglected to tell him about this "ceremonial process" caused his blood to run cold.

"Yes. It's nothing much. Come, tell me, do you swear your undying allegiance to the cause and thereby swear you will forevermore be loyal to me and the superiority of the pure-blooded race?" Voldemort asked as if he had said this ten thousand times before.

Draco raised his eyebrows and said nothing for a moment. He could feel his father's desires radiating towards him and, as expected, Draco would follow his father's wishes. "Yes, I do."

"Now, hold out your arm – your wand arm," Voldemort ordered.

Draco rolled up the sleeve to his left arm and exposed bare pale flesh the colour of creamy ivory. Voldemort touched the point of his wand to Draco's skin and whispered something – an incantation.

Draco could feel the magic all around him, encircling him completely and seeping into every pore in his body, concentrating most at the under-skin of his forearm. He hissed in pain as a searing heat burned its way through his flesh. It built up until he was barely able to stand.

And then, everything went black.

**-**

"…put some sort of spell on him, Lucius?" asked a familiar voice distrustfully.

"I would never, m'Lord. I sincerely do not understand why that happened…."

More things were said, but Draco could not discern them. His head was swimming with blurry recollections that didn't make a great deal of sense, and he was utterly freezing all over – as if his skin was gradually crystallising into ice. A pounding, throbbing ache was ripping through his head and he felt that if he didn't get an anti-nausea charm soon, he'd end up tasting lunch all over again.

"…no spell that could've done that to him, right? At least, no spell that I've ever heard of." That was his father speaking, he knew that much.

"I don't mean to sound rude," came the raspy voice of Draco Malfoy. "But would you mind terribly keeping the volume down to a minimum?"

The two voices ceased at once and Draco could only guess they were staring directly at him. He opened one eye, standing shakily, and was met with a swirling abyss. He choked back a gasp and was immediately brought to his full senses. His eyes widened in fear; he stared into the swirling abyss for a moment, staggering back drunkenly.

And then everything came back into focus and the Dark Lord stood where the abyss once floated.

Draco shook his head and blinked several times. The abyss was an illusion then. Good. He thought he was going bloody insane.

"Feeling better, Draco?" asked a bitter voice. Voldemort.

"Oh, yes, loads better – that fall to the concrete really _didn't_ do much damage to my skull," he retorted sarcastically. Dark Lord or not, Draco was always cranky after waking up. The headache didn't help much either. "By the way, big thanks for the pillow after the fall – oh yes, and that blinding pain you hadn't mentioned before. Helped clear my sinuses, it did."

"This is no time for your tongue, Draco," Lucius chided maliciously. "I'm sorry, m'Lord, for my son's insolence."

Draco was taken aback, surprised by the change in demeanour that had come over his father. While Lucius had scolded him on many occasions, he had never, _never_ done so scathingly. He found he could think of no suitable retort.

There was a short silence, and then Voldemort spoke again. When he did, Draco could actually feel his world collapsing around him. "Lucius, this boy is obviously useless in our cause. You saw his violent reaction to my spell. He cannot be trusted. There are other forces at work here and I don't feel we can quite…_trust_ your son."

Lucius drew himself up and Draco fell back against the wall behind him in disbelief. What was he saying? What had he meant by that?

"I believe you know what to do. Also, I will not hold you responsible for your son's lack of benefit. It is clearly a reflection on his _own_ magic," Voldemort sneered as he began walking off. Pretty quickly, he had disappeared with an audible pop.

Draco stared at his seething father. For the first time in his sixteen years, he felt real fear. Voldemort was frightening, yes, but also rather silly when he thought about it. His father, on the other hand, had brought Draco up to fear and respect him. Now, he had lost whatever pride his father had had in him and without it, Draco was no longer valuable.

There were only two ways Draco could see this scenario ending, and quite frankly, he wasn't keen on either outcome.

"You are a disgrace to your name, Draco," his father said in calm rage. It was always calm rage – never an outburst, never heated – always cold, calculated, and unpredictable. Just this once, Draco would've gone for an explosion.

"Father, I don't know what you mean," Draco said pathetically. It was the truth. He did not know what the hell had just happened. One second he was ready and willing to sell his proverbial soul to the devil, just to please his father and the next he was on the cold, stone floor in immense pain with said father practically spitting at him in disdain.

"You mean to tell me that you had absolutely nothing to do with what happened?" He didn't sound as if he'd believe Draco even if he told him the absolute truth – which he did anyway.

"That's exactly it! What happened?" Draco cried, exasperated. Really, he had never had _such_ a headache. It took every ounce of willpower he had not to pass out.

Lucius loomed over him and he winced at the proximity. He _really_ was angry. Lucius never got that close to him unless he badly wanted Draco to know what he was feeling.

"Don't pretend you don't know, boy!" he hissed under his breath. He lifted Draco to his feet by his collar. "Go ahead, check your arm – see the result of whatever spell you cast upon yourself."

Draco furrowed his brow, but complied anyway. He fought back a startled gasp, but failed to hide the surprise flashing across his features. His father had trained him well, but such a wave of shock was difficult to push down.

On his arm, where the Dark Mark _should_ have been, a totally alien tattoo looked up at him. It was a black dragon, snakelike in figure but with four legs, upon the hilt of a small dagger, its long tail wrapped around the blade. On the hilt of the sword, hidden beneath the tail of the dragon, Draco could make out the words: _In Tenebrae Credeo_. "_In Tenebrae Credeo_?" he whispered, more to himself than for his father.

His father's eyes narrowed. "What did you say?"

Absentmindedly, he repeated, "_In Tenebrae Credeo_. It's right here on my arm…."

Lucius grabbed his arm viciously and squinted at it. "I see no such inscription."

"What? But it's right there."

"Then you're obviously hallucinating."

"I'm _not_ hallucinating."

"Draco," Lucius said in a calm, bitter tone. "Do you still claim ignorance to what happened before? About how you got this mark and everything?"

Draco shrugged, not meeting his father's eyes. "I don't know what happened. It must've been you or the Dark Lord who put this tattoo on me. I've never seen it before."

"Neither the Dark Lord nor I put that on you," Lucius said through clenched teeth. "I should have known this would happen." He took a step forward. Draco took a step back and looked down at his father's hands, at the wand slowly coming up towards him, and he felt a sudden flurry of panic pass through his heart. "You were always such an insolent boy, and the way you spoke to the Dark Lord, as if you were somehow better than him – it should have become clear to me then that you'd try to sabotage any standing I had with him."

Draco's eyes widened as the point of his father's wand met with his forehead.

"I will not tolerate insolence and disobedience from you, boy."

"F-Father?" Draco gasped, his voice strangled by a mixture of confusion, fear, and alarm.

"_Avada Kedavra_," hissed Lucius.

A bright green light poured from the wand tip and nearly blinded Draco with its immensity. He could feel his heart stop and didn't know whether it was because he was dying or if he was just that afraid.

Then, suddenly, Draco saw his father stumble back a few paces, fear evident by his features. Confused, Draco blinked at him. Shouldn't he be dead by now?

Several things seemed to happen at once: Lucius grabbing for his wand again, muttering the Killing Curse repeatedly, green lights shooting out of his wand over and over again; Draco grabbing for his own wand and shouting, "_Stupefy_!" and seeing his father fall in a heap of black robes; and then running for all his worth as far away from that place as possible.

**-**

"Don't you dare speak with such a tongue to me ever again, boy!" cried Uncle Vernon, his face as purple as ever.

"Then don't say shit about my mum and dad! You know nothing about them!" screamed Harry back at him, his hand reflexively going for his wand.

It wasn't the first time that summer Uncle Vernon had made an off-hand, rather nasty, comment about his parents in front of Harry, and the Boy-Who-Lived had had enough. He had exploded, shouting out exactly what he thought of those comments and exactly where Uncle Vernon should shove them.

"I'll mind you to keep your tongue in check!" Harry could see his uncle's veins beginning to protrude. Pretty soon, he imagined, things would turn rather ugly – and he had the feeling that his portly cousin would most likely delight in helping his uncle pound him.

"I don't need this," Harry growled, and with that, he was out the door before he could hear what his Uncle had thought of it.

It was a really sticky, humid, hot summer's day but that didn't slow Harry down any. He was running on pure adrenaline and not even the scorching heat could stop him. Pretty soon, however, he began to feel just how hot it was. He slowed his pace and took a moment to take in his surroundings. He was in the park, and was one of the only people suicidal enough to be out in this heat.

Harry drew a long breath and exhaled slowly. Good. He was alone. He spotted the water fountain and walked to it, taking a long drink from the cool water. Then he slid down onto his knees, resting his head against the fountain, and closed his eyes. It really _was_ very hot, and his anger had far from subsided.

He didn't know how long he sat there, but when he heard hesitant footsteps and felt a shadow looming over him, he didn't feel like moving. "If you want to use the fountain, you're going to have to wait until I can move my legs," he mumbled. If the person were any farther away, he or she would not have heard him.

"That's a Muggle fountain, Potter. I have no intention of _using_ it."

Harry's eyes snapped open. That voice. Could it be…? He looked up to meet the owner of the shadow and instantly regretted it as the sun blared into his eyes. He made a disgruntled noise and looked away. As he stood up, he began to rub his eyes fervently. It took a moment, but when his vision cleared, he found he wasn't all that relieved to be able to see. "Malfoy?" Really, Fate was trying a bit too hard to get him riled up today. "What the bloody hell are you doing here? This is a _Muggle_ town remember? Or were you lost and couldn't find your way?"

Malfoy bristled. "As a matter of fact, I do know this is a Muggle town…and I _wasn't_ lost."

"Oh? Then what are you doing here?"

Malfoy's face went blank. "Actually…." What was he doing here? All he could remember was high tailing it away from the Manor. He remembered thinking he had to go somewhere, but not to any of his friends' houses because of their…erm…_connections_. And at that moment, Draco remembered realising he had practically received an invitation to visit Potter.

"Well?"

"Um, well, I decided to take you up on your offer," Malfoy replied decidedly.

"My…offer? Malfoy, what are you on about?"

Malfoy crossed his arms impatiently. "Remember? Before we left for the summer? You told me that if I ever needed anything, I shouldn't hesitate to ask?"

For a moment, Harry didn't realise what he was talking about. After pondering, the memory came back at him full force….

Harry had run up to Malfoy at the end of the year out of the blue, just before they were to set off to King's Cross Station, and told him, in no uncertain terms, that if Malfoy ever needed anything, he could always count on Harry.

Malfoy had looked perplexed, very suspicious, and had rather impolitely declined the offer, telling him that he'd never be so desperate.

They had parted on that note, hating each other as usual. It wasn't until Malfoy showed up and mentioned it that Harry even remembered making such a promise.

"I didn't think you'd ever be so desperate," said Harry, adopting Malfoy's haughty tone from that day.

Malfoy sneered at the memory. "Neither did I."

Harry narrowed his eyes, but said nothing, just stared at the blonde, his eyes questioning.

There was a silence, and then, "So do you live in the park, or is there somewhere that is _out_ of this blistering sauna?"

Part of Harry told himself that letting Malfoy into his home was a big mistake, and that he should just leave the prat there to deal with whatever had happened to bring him here. However, it wasn't a very large part and Harry's polite side won out. "Come on," he muttered and began walking.

Malfoy followed silently.

They seemed to trudge on for hours. "Merlin, Potter, do you even _live_ in England?"

Harry scowled. "Of course I do. I just…I guess I didn't realise how far I ran," he said almost distantly.

"How far you ran?"

Harry shrugged. "I…had a bit of a row with my uncle. It's nothing unusual."

Malfoy's eyebrow quirked, "Oh? So you do this everyday? Run out in the middle of a heat wave to a place a thousand miles between you and your house?"

"Shut it, Malfoy. I don't have the patience to deal with you prattling on about something you know nothing about," Harry snapped irritably.

"Ooh, is the heat making ickle Potter cranky?"

"Malfoy…" Harry warned.

"Aw, does wittle Pawter need a nap?"

Harry stopped abruptly and whirled to face Malfoy, his eyes sparkling angrily. "If you don't shut it, I will have absolutely _no problem_ leaving you here, exposed to the elements. That pretty-boy hair of yours is already frizzing up in this humidity – imagine what it'll be like in a couple of _hours_!"

Harry was happy to see Malfoy run a hand through his hair and shut up immediately. He nodded, and they continued to walk in blessed silence for another few moments before Harry reached Number Four Privet Drive.

"This is it?" Malfoy asked as Harry reached for the doorknob.

Harry sighed. "Yes. You were expecting a palace?"

Malfoy shrugged. "I wasn't really expecting anything, actually." He followed Harry over the threshold. "It's just…not quite what you'd call 'homey', is it?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "I'm sorry there aren't any fire-breathing dragons ready and willing to chomp off any visitor's head at your choosing, but you're going to have to deal with it."

Harry was surprised to see Malfoy smirk. "Don't be silly, Potter. Janus hasn't 'chomped off' anyone's head since the 1600s."

Harry's eyes widened and he blinked, staring at Malfoy incredulously.

Malfoy adopted a rather affronted look. "What? He felt threatened – the wizard nearly killed him on the spot. It was pure self-defence," he defended, obviously thinking Harry's shocked look came from his dragon killing someone, not from the fact that he _actually had a dragon_.

"Potter, what is going on here?" cried the gruff voice of Uncle Vernon from the dining table.

Harry blinked, glancing at the clock on the wall and seeing that it was, indeed, dinnertime. "Oh, um, this is Draco, Draco Malfoy. He's from…school." Harry knew it was probably a bad idea to tell them Malfoy was from _his_ school, but he was a bit too angry with them to care much.

"From that crackpot school? How dare you bring him into this house!" protested Uncle Vernon, who was now advancing on them, a menacing gleam in his eyes.

Malfoy took a few steps back (the man was practically half-giant!), but saw that Harry didn't even budge. He just stood there, shoulders squared, eyes daring and sparkling with a challenge.

"Get him out of this house, _Potter_," Uncle Vernon warned.

Harry drew his wand and held it to Uncle Vernon's throat. "Get out of my face before I hex you into oblivion, _Uncle Vernon_," he hissed dangerously.

Uncle Vernon looked shifty but said anyway, "You're still in school. You aren't allowed to do magic."

Harry chuckled darkly and smirked viciously. Malfoy blinked and felt just a little afraid to see the darkness crossing the features of his archrival. It was one thing to see it in a blinded rage, but another thing entirely to witness it as a bystander. "I turned seventeen just yesterday. I can do whatever magic I want."

Before Harry could catch Uncle Vernon's reaction, he turned on his heel and headed for the stairs. Malfoy followed dubiously.

When the door shut, Malfoy could do nothing but stare at the black-haired youth. "If you're seventeen, why don't you move out?" Malfoy asked as Harry went about taking off his shoes and falling onto his springy mattress.

Harry rested his head on his hands. "I'm not supposed to move out until I'm out of Hogwarts or I defeat Voldemort – whichever comes first," he replied lazily.

Malfoy, being used to the Potter boy taking on such a bored tone when mentioning the Dark Lord, wasn't fazed by the general lack of feeling behind that statement. He seated himself in the chair behind the desk. "And why not?"

Harry shrugged, not taking his eyes off of the ceiling. "Something about a charm," he murmured, seemingly on the verge of in-depth thought.

"So this is your room?" Malfoy asked disinterestedly.

"Yes, Malfoy, this is my room."

"It's rather cramped in here, isn't it?"

"Malfoy."

"I mean you don't even have your own bathroom."

"Malfoy, what are you doing here?"

Malfoy sighed and leaned back into the chair, crossing his arms over his chest. "It's none of your business, Potter."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Considering your current location, I'd say I have every right to know why you're here."

"I don't want to talk about it," Malfoy growled.

"What else is new?" Harry commented before hoisting himself up into a sitting position. "I don't care if you want to talk about it or not. At least give me a vague reason not to throw you out of here right now."

Malfoy shrugged. "I…had a bad day."

Harry laughed in amazement. "You…you had a _bad day_? A _bad day_, Malfoy? If I went to my hated enemy's house every time I had a _bad day_, well, let's just say you, your father, and Voldemort wouldn't need an excuse to lure me into a trap to face my death. Why didn't you just go to Pansy? Crabbe, Goyle, Nott, even Zabini?"

"Because…I didn't want to." He wasn't really lying – just not telling the whole truth. Besides, where did Potter get off telling him where he could and could not go?

"Malfoy, you hate me. I hate you. I thought this was clear. Why did you come to _me_?"

Malfoy shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I wouldn't say I _hate_ you."

"Yes, you would."

Pause. "All right, so I would. But that doesn't mean I have to go about explaining myself to you."

Harry threw himself back onto the bed, his arms spread at his sides, eyes closed. "Whatever, Malfoy."

There was a short silence, "Potter, where am I going to sleep?"

"I don't care."

Harry heard Malfoy getting off of the chair and moving around a bit. He jumped when he heard Malfoy speaking very close to him. "Well, get up then."

Harry opened one eye and saw Malfoy standing over him, arms folded over his chest again. "You're kidding me."

"Me? Kid with you?"

"Malfoy, this is _my_ bed!" Harry cried, outraged.

"So? I'm _your_ guest."

"Guest? _Guest_? You're no guest, Malfoy. You're an annoyance – an irritation."

"Well, you don't expect me to sleep on the floor, do you?"

As a response, Harry took one of his pillows and several layers of his sheets and threw them in a pile at Malfoy's feet.

"Potter."

"What?"

"I'm _not_ sleeping on the floor."

"Then I hope you know a good conjuring charm _and_ a way to get around the Ministry magic-detection spells, because otherwise the floor is your new bed."

"You're despicable, Potter."

"And you're annoying, but hey, we all have things that we have no choice but to deal with."

Harry heard a scuffling and assumed Malfoy was arranging the bed sheets in such a manner as to lie on them. He made a startled gasp when he suddenly felt two arms grab him and deposit him haphazardly on the floor. He straightened his glasses and looked at where he had been laying, and saw Malfoy making himself comfortable on the mattress.

Harry stood up. "I'm not sleeping on the floor, Malfoy," he spat indignantly.

"Of course you are. You're _Harry Potter_. You would sacrifice anything to keep the wizarding world and Muggle world alike comfortable," Malfoy drawled, his eyes already closed.

"I refuse to give up my bed."

"Oh? What are you going to do about it?"

Malfoy never got a vocal response. Instead, his eyes shot open when he felt someone sink into the other side of the twin-size mattress. "You've got to be kidding me, Potter."

"Me? Kid with you?" Harry asked, throwing Malfoy's own words back at him.

"This mattress isn't large enough for both of us."

"Well, I'm not in the mood to sacrifice the well-being of my back for a prissy little rich boy, so you can just get back on that floor and sleep there. Otherwise, try not to move too much – I tend to move a lot in my sleep. Something to do with nightmares," Harry mumbled, his voice getting softer as he spoke.

In seconds, Malfoy could hear the Boy-Who-Lived snoring very lightly. With a growl of frustration, he turned onto his side and attempted sleep as well.

At that moment, he wondered why he ever thought coming here was a _good_ idea.

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**Afterword:** So? What did you think? Not much by the way of slash, but it'll get there of course. Chapter two is already off to my betas, so expect that in a little while. Can't promise when, but meh. This is usually where my "Thanks to the Reviewers" goes, but since this is the first chapter, I don't have any. -grins- Hope you enjoyed the first chapter. Thanks for reading!

**Chesza**


	2. Diagon Alley

**Title: **Tied by Fate  
**Author: **Chesza  
**Category: **Harry Potter  
**Genre: **Slash/Romance/Drama  
**Rating: **R  
**Spoilers: **SS/PS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OotP  
**Summary: **Draco learns Muggle life is so much more inconvenient than he thought, Harry and Draco go off to Diagon Alley, and Harry learns something about Draco. Fights, Mudbloods, and Weasels galore.  
**Disclaimer: **This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.  
**Author's Note-**squee- It's chapter two! Of course, I'd like to thank **Jenny** and **Paris** for their loffly beta-ing skills -glomps and throws candy- Without them, my fic would be crap. -grins- And thanks to the reviewers (who will be thanked personally at the bottom of the chapter!) 

Well, get reading! I have no more to say. -grins-

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**Chapter Two – Diagon Alley**

Draco Malfoy woke up in the worst mood of his life.

The mattress had to be one of the most uncomfortable surfaces he had ever slept on, and Potter hadn't helped at all with his furious kicking and mumbling in his sleep. Draco thought more than once about using a stunning spell on the prat, but decided it wouldn't do to have his wand broken in half.

So, he had to deal with it. Unfortunately, this meant not getting a wink of sleep. However, he did pretend to be asleep when the Boy-Who-Lived had bolted upright in bed, clutching at his scar and panting heavily.

He had felt Potter's nervous, curious stare on him, and it took all of Draco's self-control not to launch up and yell at him wrathfully for staring so much. Eventually, Potter had fallen back on his back and attempted sleep.

Draco didn't know whether he had fallen back asleep or not, because just a few minutes later, he had fallen asleep himself.

Only to wake up two hours later by being furiously shaken by Potter.

"Get up, Malfoy," Potter growled.

Draco opened one eyelid and saw that it was, indeed, Potter shaking him and not some horrible nightmare. He groaned and turned his head into his pillow. "Oh, fuck off you barbarian."

"You need to get up if you still want to stay here," Potter told him.

Draco heard the boy scuffling about and assumed he was getting dressed. He kept his face in the pillow. "What makes you think I want to stay here?"

Potter was silent for a moment. "Do you have anywhere else to go?"

He had a point. Damn him. "Not really."

Potter sighed. "Well, thanks for getting my hopes up," he replied sarcastically. "Anyway, you need to get up. You can borrow some clothes if you want."

Draco felt something drop on top of him. He looked up and saw that Potter had thrown down an outfit consisting of a pair of blue jeans and a black t-shirt with "The Ramones" written across the front. He raised his eyebrow. "Who are the Ramones?"

Potter rolled his eyes and pulled on his own t-shirt. "A Muggle music band."

"And you expect me to wear something promoting Muggle music?"

"Yes."

"You're a loathsome prat."

"So I've been told," Potter said rather carelessly. "How long do you expect to be here, Malfoy?"

Draco shrugged, throwing the blankets off of him and proceeding to put on Potter's jeans. "I'm not sure, really. I sort of came here on a whim."

Potter sighed. "Fine, but while you're here, you'll do what I do."

Draco raised his eyebrow. "Oh? And what is it you do?"

**-**

"No."

"Don't be so stubborn. It's not _that_ bad."

"I absolutely refuse, Potter."

"Look, you just-"

"Don't you listen?" Malfoy snapped. "I don't know how to cook!"

Harry frowned. "Why not?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Oh, gee, I don't know. Maybe it's because I'm a _Malfoy_ and Malfoy's _do not cook_."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous. Anyone can pour milk and cereal into a bowl. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure it out."

"…"

"What's a rocket scientist?"

_Sigh_. "Never mind. It's a Muggle expression." Harry took the eggs from the fridge, heated a skillet, and proceeded to crack them into the pan. "You'd better be watching Malfoy, because you're going to know how to cook after today."

Malfoy scowled. "And why exactly are we cooking? I know you're a big eater, but even both of us together cannot finish off a dozen eggs."

"I know that, but we're not the only ones eating this breakfast. The three hippos upstairs are joining us. In fact, if my clairvoyance skills are up to par, I predict we'll probably only get one egg each."

Malfoy's eyes widened. "Why can't they make their own breakfast?"

Harry shrugged. "Guess they'd rather not."

Malfoy shook his head in wonder. "I can't believe it. You could hold them all in the palm of your hand, yet you let them treat you as a common House Elf."

Harry shrugged, but seemed to be chopping at the scrambled eggs a bit more intently than necessary. Of course Malfoy would not understand. He himself could not understand why he continued to act like their servant, but he supposed it was just a habit that he really didn't care enough about to break. He decided quickly to change the topic.

"Hey Malfoy, what's that tattoo on your arm?"

Yes, that seemed to abruptly change Malfoy's demeanour. Now, instead of being an annoying little busybody, he seemed more like a deer caught in headlights. "What tattoo?"

"That one on your arm," Harry repeated. He had noticed the strange tattoo while Malfoy was changing, and now that Malfoy was wearing a t-shirt so that it was clearly visible, it had begun to bug Harry just a bit. It was exactly where the Dark Mark would be if he were a Death Eater. That sent a chill down Harry's spine.

"Oh, um, right," Malfoy mumbled. "It's just a, you know, tattoo."

"How eloquently put, Malfoy, but really, what is it?"

"Nothing, _Potter_, it's just a tattoo. Now will you drop it?" Malfoy snapped irately.

Taken aback, Harry just blinked at him before transferring the eggs in the skillet to a plate. "Sorry, I was just curious. What does it say?"

"Pardon?"

"On your tattoo. I can see some writing, but I can't make out what it is."

"…You can see the writing?"

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be able to? What does it say?"

Malfoy looked back at his arm and traced his fingers over it. He saw that when he did that, the letters seemed to glow green momentarily and the dragon perked up and looked at them before once against resting on the hilt. "_In Tenebrae Credeo_," he mumbled.

"What does that mean?"

"It's Latin. It means, 'In Darkness I Believe'."

Harry blinked at him once again. "In Darkness I Believe?" he asked uncomfortably. "Erm..."

"I don't know why it says it, you prat, so don't go making assumptions," Malfoy growled, knowing very well what Harry thought it meant.

Harry looked back at the eggs. "I wasn't," he mumbled.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Oh, please, you're an open book, Potter."

"And you talk too much. If you're not going to cook, then you had better set the table." Harry shoved five plates into Malfoy's hands.

"Set…the table? Like a common House Elf! Well, I never-."

"Oh, get off your bloody high horse and do it, you spoiled little prat," Harry snapped as he proceeded to make bacon.

Malfoy just stared.

"What? Don't you know how to set a table?"

Malfoy shifted uncomfortably and raised his chin just a little higher. "I know how a table is _set_, Potter. I've just never done it before."

"Well, now's as good a time as any, don't you think?" Harry inquired.

Malfoy glared witheringly at him, mumbled something unintelligible under his breath, and went about setting the table.

**-**

When the Dursleys finally came down for breakfast, Draco realised that Potter hadn't been kidding before – they really _did_ eat that much. Draco managed to get one of everything – hardly enough to satisfy his appetite – before the two largest men in existence got their sausage-like fingers on the rest.

Draco had never been more disgusted in his entire life.

"Your family eats like they've been starving for years, Potter," Draco commented as they walked outside.

Potter seemed to like to do that a lot – walk outside, doing nothing but trudging on lost in his thoughts. Draco didn't know how the older boy could stand it. He had never been good at doing nothing.

"Yes, well, you know what they say: you can't choose your relatives," Potter replied in a distant voice, as if he really wasn't thinking about it.

"I'm still hungry," Draco mumbled.

Potter raised an eyebrow. "And here I thought you'd be full."

Draco crossed his arms over his chest. "Just because I'm rich doesn't mean I don't eat a lot. I _happen_ to have an extraordinarily high metabolism."

"Uh-huh."

Draco looked around. "Where are we going anyway?"

"Dunno."

"How long are we going to be walking like this?"

"Until it gets too hot or until you get too annoying – whichever comes first."

"Funny, Potter."

Potter shrugged. "I thought so."

"So, you really do this everyday?"

"I seem to, yes."

"Potter, this is ridiculous."

"What is ridiculous?"

Draco stopped, waving his arms up and down. "I'm already sweating and we're not even that far from your house."

"Then go back inside. I never said you had to come with me," Potter replied.

"And be alone with that sodding family of yours? Really, Potter."

Harry didn't get to reply, as something hit him over the head from above. He looked up and saw an owl flying off. He looked down, and saw two envelopes lying together in a haphazard fashion.

One was addressed to Harry, and one was addressed to Draco. Harry opened his first and mumbled, "Acceptance letters."

"Acceptance letters? But how did they know I was here?"

Potter gave him a funny look. "Um, he's Dumbledore."

Draco's eyebrows rose. "Oh, that's right. That man seems to know bloody everything. Quite annoying, really. Especially when you're trying to keep a secret."

"And what secrets are you trying to hide, Malfoy?"

Shit. He had opened the door on that one. Damn his babbling. "Nothing you'd be interested in, Potter," he replied rather scathingly. That should deter any questioning, at least for today.

"Well, shall we then?"

"Shall we what?"

"Go to Diagon Alley. We need to get these supplies. Better to do it immediately. Last year, I waited until the last minute and everything was nearly gone."

"Hm. What about your…relatives?"

Potter shrugged, shoving the letter back into the envelope. "They won't miss me. Besides, what are they going to do? Take away my allowance? I'm seventeen."

Draco smirked and nodded.

**-**

Sure enough, even though Uncle Vernon had threatened nearly everything in Harry's life, he still could not stop the young wizard from taking off to Diagon Alley to get his school supplies. Harry still humoured the large man, thinking it rather amusing to see veins popping out of Uncle Vernon's neck and forehead.

Of course, Harry didn't think it was all that funny that Uncle Vernon decided to take another blow at his dead parents. That was when he promptly silenced him by producing his wand. It worked just as well as if he had uttered a silencing spell. Taking his Uncle's silence as permission, Harry once again went outside with Malfoy.

"And…now what are we doing?"

Harry raised his wand in the air. "The Knight Bus. I used it once in third year. It should take us directly to the Leaky Cauldron, and we'll get to Diagon Alley from there."

"You know, we could always Floo our way there."

Harry shook his head. "I hate Floo-ing. I prefer this way."

"Yes, but Floo-ing is much quicker."

"Oh? You think I care about that?"

Malfoy sighed and crossed his arms again. "I hate, hate, _hate_ you, Potter. Making me ride a stupid, smelly bus."

"Oh, get over it already."

The Knight Bus appeared a few seconds later, and Stan Shunpike greeted them merrily. Malfoy frowned at the friendly boy with his acne-ridden face, and growled under his breath, "Hate, hate, _hate_ you. So. Very. Much."

Harry smirked.

**-**

A few minutes later, Malfoy and Harry were dropped off at the entrance of the Leaky Cauldron. Harry looked as relaxed as ever, his arms resting behind his head as he walked. Malfoy, on the other hand, looked as if he had spent hours at a head-banging concert. His hair was standing every which way, his eyes wide with terror, and Harry's "Ramones" t-shirt was askew.

"See? That wasn't so bad, was it?" Harry asked, knowing perfectly well that it _was_ that bad – especially for someone who had never ridden the Knight Bus and didn't know what to expect. Like Malfoy. Harry smirked.

"Not that bad? _Not that bad_?" Malfoy said in a voice stressed from screaming. "I nearly bloody broke my nose, Potter. My _nose_! Not to mention the state of my hair. Oh, my poor _hair_. I don't want to look. Is it bad, Potter? Is it horrible?"

"Like I'd tell you if it was."

"Please, Potter, I need to know," Malfoy pleaded. "Does it look like I was just manhandled by a tornado?"

Wondering how a person could be manhandled by a _tornado_ of all things, Harry glanced at Malfoy. "It's not that bad."

Malfoy sulked. "Considering your definition of 'not that bad' is flying back and forth inside a bus, I'm assuming my hair is in complete disarray."

"It really isn't so bad, Malfoy. Stop sulking."

"I'm not sulking."

"You are. You look like I just took away your ice cream cone."

Malfoy brightened considerably. "Speaking of ice cream, that should be our first stop. I'm starving."

Harry sighed. "If you don't mind, I think Gringotts should be our first stop. Unless you somehow have your entire family fortune in your pockets."

Malfoy stopped in his tracks. Oh, shit!

Harry shot him a concerned look. "What's wrong, Malfoy?"

What's wrong? His father had tried to kill him, that's what's bloody wrong. And most certainly, he'd have already stopped Draco from being able to get any money from his vault. Shit, shit, shit, _shit_!

Harry tilted his head to the side, wondering what was troubling the blonde wizard. All he did was mention his family fortune and-.

Wait.

If Malfoy had come to Harry's house, then his home situation must've been _really_ bad. Did Malfoy possibly think that his father wasn't going to allow him to have any of his money? And he wasn't seventeen yet (as far as Harry knew) so he didn't have a vault of his own.

"You know what? To save some time, why don't we just stop at my vault? You can pay me back later."

Malfoy quirked an eyebrow and said nothing for a moment. Then, "I don't need your pity, Potter."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Like I'd ever take pity on you. This is for my own benefit. I still have homework I need to finish up, and the sooner we get back, the sooner I can start on it."

"Right."

"And you really had better pay me back, Malfoy. I mean it."

Malfoy scowled. He never had to pay anyone back in his entire life. Why should he pay _Potter_ back of all people?

He knew there was no point in arguing, and followed his archrival through the entrance to Diagon Alley.

**-**

"Oy, Harry!"

Oh, bother.

Draco stopped as Potter turned to face the voice that had called him. Draco glanced up and saw that Granger and the Weasel were sauntering towards them.

Oh, lucky day.

He should've figured they'd run into those two. Potter never could go anywhere without them. It was really quite annoying, and Draco had the sudden feeling that he was going to be subjected to relentless torture. He should just run. Quickly. Into that dark alley over there. Nobody would see him.

Bugger. His legs refused to move.

"Harry, I didn't expect to see," Granger's voice died as soon as she saw the sulking blonde. Her eyes widened with alarm and fury. "Malfoy, what are you doing here?"

Draco had the sudden urge to mock her in a childish way. He was having a perfectly – well, not perfectly, but _sort of_ pleasant time with Potter alone. Why the two idiots had to go and find them was beyond him. "You're supposedly intelligent, Granger, what does it look like I'm doing?"

Granger scowled. "It looks like you're somewhere you don't belong, _Malfoy_," she retorted, spitting out his name as if it were poison.

Draco smirked. "Funny, I was about to say the exact same thing, Mudblood."

Before he could even think about what to say next, he felt a hand on his throat and a wall hit his head. _Really, Potter, such unnecessary force_, he thought to himself. Of course, all he vocalised was a sort of strangled noise.

"Don't you _ever_ call her _that name_ again, _Malfoy_," Potter sneered at him. His eyes sparkled murderously and Draco felt the fear from seeing Voldemort return a little.

When Potter seemed satisfied with his rival's reaction, he set Draco back down on his feet and turned back to go meet up with Granger and the Weasel.

Draco let out a low growl and pounced, knocking both him and Potter to the ground, Potter making an audible _oomph! _noise. Draco rolled off of him, his eyes glaring dangerously.

Potter's eyes narrowed. "What are you doing, Malfoy?"

"Nobody, Potter, _nobody_ gets away with pushing me around," Draco snarled in a menacing voice.

"Really, Malfoy, you're being ridiculous. You deserved it after calling Hermione what you did," Potter retorted.

In response, Draco lunged at him and threw a punch that landed squarely on Potter's jaw. It wasn't strong enough to break Potter's jaw, but it was enough to have the prat seeing stars for a moment. Draco smirked in appreciation of his obvious strength.

And while Draco gloated, Potter charged at him and knocked him back on the ground, knocking the wind out of him for a second. It was then he realised that Potter was sitting on top of his abdomen, landing punches left and right into his face.

_That's it_, Draco mentally growled, _Potter is going to **die**_.

With that, Draco used his knee to roll them both over, forcing Potter on his back. The Boy-Who-Lived cringed as the back of his head met concrete, but that didn't stop him from trying to push Draco off of him – to, of course, no avail.

"Oh, _cut_ it _out_!" Draco heard from somewhere beyond the roaring ocean in his ears. "_Impedimentia_!"

Draco's fist stopped three inches from Potter's face. Though he tried to fight the spell, he could not move. A shadow fell upon them. A shadow that was unmistakeably Granger.

"Now, either you two stop fighting immediately, or you stay like this until school starts. When I take this off of you, you _both_ had better stand up and apologise to one another, or the hex goes back on. Got it?" asked Granger, sounding rather unsteady.

If Draco could move his jaw muscles enough to talk, he would've told the Mudblood to sod off.

However.

"_Finite Incantatem_."

Potter hurriedly pushed Draco off him and scrambled to get up. The blonde just glowered at Granger, then at Potter, and spat indignant vulgarity under his breath.

Satisfied that the two sworn enemies were not fighting anymore, Granger smiled smugly and put her wand back into her pocket. She then turned to Potter, most likely forgetting that a wounded Draco Malfoy still sat on the dirty ground.

"Well, Harry, Ron and I must be off. We've already got all of our shopping done."

"Yeah, mate, I'll owl you later," Weasley replied.

Harry nodded, almost thankful that the pair was leaving. Draco seemed almost docile and nearly manageable when his friends weren't around. "All right."

When Granger looked back at Draco to give him a nasty parting glance, her eyes narrowed. Draco stood up, raised his eyebrows and followed her gaze: his shirt.

Damn it.

"Harry, why is Malfoy wearing your shirt?"

"What?" Harry asked, thrown for a second.

"Isn't that your 'Ramones' shirt? I never thought Malfoy would like a Muggle band," Granger replied suspiciously. She kept darting insinuating looks at both of the boys.

Draco did _not_ like those insinuating looks. They implied something that Draco didn't even want to consider. Not with Potter.

Potter looked back at him. "Oh, that. Well…." Potter then launched into a story about how Draco came to his house just yesterday needing a place to stay and how, since all of Draco's belongings were at his house, he was wearing Potter's clothes.

"But, why would you go to his house, Malfoy?" Weasley asked, obviously confused.

How surprising.

"That, _Weasel_, is none of your concern," Draco drawled nastily.

"Why, you…." Weasley began storming up to Draco.

Draco was slightly relieved when Potter grabbed the enraged red-head's arm, preventing him from moving any farther.

"Ron, don't. I believe Malfoy's had enough of a beating today, don't you think?"

"Oh, I don't know," growled Weasley. "I think he could use a few more bruises…maybe a broken bone or two."

"Ron," Granger sighed. "As much as I'd _love_ for you to pound the ferret, we really must get going. Your mother is expecting us back at the Burrow any minute now."

At the mention of his mother, Weasley calmed somewhat. "Fine," he mumbled. He then turned to Potter. "You know, this whole arrangement could work out to your benefit. You know what they say: the taste of revenge is sweet."

Potter raised his eyebrows for a moment and cast a considering glance at Draco. Draco's heart fluttered in panic for a second. He nearly died of relief when Potter shrugged, chuckled, and said, "Yeah, but then I'd have to deal with an overly moody ponce for the rest of my vacation."

Well, _part_ of him nearly died in relief. The other part sputtered indignantly. "I do not get _moody_, Potter."

Potter looked at him disinterestedly. "Okay, Malfoy."

Draco crossed his arms and sulked, mumbling unintelligibly.

"Well, I'll see you guys soon, I guess."

Granger and the Weasel disappeared into the crowd and Potter walked back over to Draco, giving him a hard look.

Draco rolled his eyes after a few seconds of waiting for an explanation. "What is it?" he asked impatiently.

"There is one rule and only one rule you must follow if you're going to be staying with me, Malfoy."

"Oh? And what is it?" he asked. "I can't promise I'll follow it, Potter, because quite frankly, I have no desire to be anyone's – most especially _your_ – sex slave. There are some things even _I_ won't do."

For the second time that day, Potter seemed thrown. Blinking, he snapped from his stupor and proceeded to blush noticeably. "No! God, Malfoy, no! That's not it. Merlin, Malfoy, what would make you think _that_?"

Draco shrugged and muttered something Potter didn't quite catch.

"I was talking about being at least partially civil to Hermione and Ron," Potter explained. "I don't want you calling them 'Mudblood' and 'Weasel'. Not only does it make me question your creativity on insults, it's also really hurtful."

Draco tilted his head to the side in thought. "Well, that would be the general idea behind insulting someone, Potter. Or do you do it because you believe it makes the other person feel special about themselves? Getting insulted by the Great Harry Potter. Oh, what an _honour_."

"Oh, shut up, Malfoy. I know why you insult them. I'm just telling you to stop it."

Draco's eyes flashed. "You're _telling_ me to stop it? Since when do I have to follow what you say?"

Potter took a step forward, bright green eyes glowering down into Draco's own steely greys. "Since you started living in my house, that's when."

Draco stared up defiantly at him, a sense of self-righteousness rising in him. How _dare_ Potter order him around like that? He had absolutely no right. It wasn't Potter's place to tell him what he should or should not do. The only person who could do that, right now, was Draco himself. And he was not about to let Potter get away with thinking he could control Draco. "I'll call them whatever I please, _Potter_."

Potter's eyebrow raised in an infuriating way. "Oh? Well, then I suppose I'll see you at school." With that, he turned and began walking away.

Dumbfounded, Draco shook himself from a momentary stupor and caught up with Potter. "What do you mean by that?"

"I meant what I said I meant. You either stop calling them those names, or you spend the rest of your summer somewhere else. To be honest, Malfoy, I thought it was a pretty fair deal – in fact, I think you get the lesser of the two evils," Potter informed him.

"But…you can't just leave me here," Draco protested, desperation tingeing in his voice.

Potter stopped and narrowed his eyes at him. "And why not? If you can't lower yourself enough to stop calling my friends names, then why should I lower _myself_ into letting a bratty little git stay with me all summer?"

Draco scowled and crossed his arms. "I'm not bratty."

"Yes, you are."

"You just want me to stop calling them names?"

"Yes, that's it. You can do whatever else you like…. Um…you know, that doesn't involve maiming them or pushing them to the brink of insanity," Potter added as an afterthought.

Draco rolled his eyes. "You take the fun out of everything." Sighing, he looked back up at the speccy git. "Fine, I won't call them names anymore. However, there's something you must do for me in return."

"What? But, we're already on a level playing field! What makes you think I'll tip the scales in your favour?"

"It's nothing, Potter, really. It's just a price to pay for my kindness. Besides, the scales are tipped in _your_ favour, not mine. Having a Malfoy such as myself in your home is considered to be an honour," said Draco in a regal tone.

"Yeah, well so is being in the highest ranks of the Death Eaters, but you don't see me jumping for a chance for that, do you?" Potter asked sarcastically.

Draco chuckled. "Don't be silly, Potter. The Dark Lord would never accept you. You're too high on his list of enemies. He'd rather see you die in a million and a half ways than let you into his army and ensure his ultimate victory."

For a moment, Potter wondered if there was some sort of underlying compliment in that statement. If there was, he decided to ignore it. "Yes, well…get on with it. What did you want?"

Draco smirked.

**-**

"You're a ridiculous prat. You know that, right?"

Malfoy smirked at him. "Since I've been told that a thousand times since I got here, yes."

"Well," Harry said, shifting uncomfortably under the weight of the packages in his hands. "I just thought you should know that my opinion of you hasn't changed. Really, Malfoy, you aren't going to be at my house that long – the summer's nearly over. Do you actually need ten pairs of pants, eighteen shirts, and eleven pairs of shoes? I mean, honestly, you could've worn my clothes. I have absolutely no problem with it."

Draco shook his head. "While your clothes _do_ fit, they don't fit me in the right ways. For one thing, this shirt is _way_ too big to be considered comfortable. It hides my figure completely."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "It…hides your figure? Malfoy? Is there something you want to tell me?"

Draco seemed to think of a response for a moment. "Hm. Yes, yes there is. I've decided you aren't going to get these jeans back."

Harry stumbled a little. "What? Why not?"

"Well, I would think it was obvious by just looking at me," Draco replied. "They hug me in all of the right places and really accent my bum, don't you agree?"

Stunned pause. "Malfoy, I'm not looking at your arse."

"Oh, really, Potter, it's not a homosexual thing at all. Girls look at other girls' bums all the time. It's considered _normal_. And now you're telling me that you think looking at my bum will make you gay?"

Harry shook his head, a bit bemused. "I'm not, Malfoy. But, I am beginning to wonder…."

"Wonder what?"

"I'm beginning to wonder if maybe you are."

"Well, of course I am, you git," Draco told him as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "With my fashion sense and looks, do you really think I could be anything but?"

Over twenty packages fell to the ground with a loud clatter. Harry stood there, opened-mouth, and wide-eyed. "Y-you're kidding me."

Draco turned to look at him. "You really didn't consider it, did you?" He chuckled. "You're about the only person who hasn't. You really are as oblivious as they come."

"B-but, what about Pansy?" he asked, trying to wrap his brain around the whole idea. He had shared a _bed_ with the guy. It was almost surreal.

Draco made a face. "Pansy? Well, that was fourth year. I mean, I only realised I was gay in fifth year. Back then, I thought Pansy and I _were_ going to be forever. But, then she went off and told me I was too focused on Nott."

"Nott? So you two…?" Harry wondered, walking with all of the packages in his arms again.

"We were on and off all sixth year, Potter. Really, you _are_ that unaware."

"But you must have kept it so secret."

"Secret? We were flirting shamelessly everywhere we went. I believe your friend, Mu—Granger walked in on us in some shadowy corner snogging."

Harry blinked and tried to erase the mental image that conjured. "I can't believe it," he said in a meek voice.

"Of course you can't, Potter. You're too caught up in your own little world," Draco stated, not bothering to hide the bitterness behind that comment.

Harry continued on in stunned silence. Why hadn't he noticed it before? Sure, Draco had become more of a small distraction than a real focus in his life since the end of fourth year, but he thought for sure that if Draco and Theodore Nott were boyfriends, he'd notice it.

Apparently, however, Draco was right. He was too caught up in his own little battle with the Dark Lord to notice anything around him anymore. As he reflected, he realised that killing Voldemort seemed to be the only thing he _had_ thought about with any depth.

Casting a curious glance at the blonde as they made their way out of Diagon Alley with their packages, Harry wondered just what else about the younger wizard he _didn't_know.

**

* * *

**

Afterword: There's chapter two. A bit longer, ne-grin- Well, of course, since this is chapter two, it's time to thank you guys personally!

**Saber Shadowkitten:**-smiles- Thank you! Hope you liked this chapter!

**jennaymai:** Thank you for the review -glomps- (For those of you who don't know this person, she is Jenny, one of my beta-readers!) You didn't have to, but I'm glad you did! Erm…like I already said-smiles-

**Little-Thief:** Well, I'm glad I have you interested. Hopefully this chapter only makes you more interested-grin-

**Priss:** Thanks, and I hope you will too!

**bananagirl:**-grins mysteriously-Nope, but it has something to do with the plot. It's very important. I don't want to give anything away, so I can't say anymore!

**blah:** Thanks! The mark's…um…I can't tell you! You'll have to keep reading to find out.

**SuishouTenshi:**-grin- Well, I'm glad that you laughed because I have tried to insert funny things in here. It can't be serious all the time, ne? Yeah, Draco can be an idiot sometimes, but he's a loveable idiot. blinks Actually, he's a loathsome idiot, but I still love him! . Now that you gave me that image, I can never look back on that scene again without laughing! By the way, I really love your fics. So…erm…when are you going to update?

**Eden's Echo:** Thank you! Hope I didn't keep you waiting too long!

**itsasledgehammer:** Oh no! Don't cry! Well, here's the second chapter, so are you happy-smile-

Well, stay tuned for the next chapter! Mata ne, minna!

**Chesza**


	3. The Order

**Title:** Tied by Fate  
**Author:** Chesza **  
Category:** Harry Potter **  
Genre:** Slash/Romance/Drama **  
Rating:** M **  
Spoilers:** SS/PS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OotP **  
Summary:** Everything you ever wanted to know about a Mage – well, not everything. Katya makes her first appearance, with some rather bad news. **  
Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. **  
Author's Note:** It's been a while, hasn't it? Sorry about the delay! It's my fault – Writer's Block. Anyway, over that. I want to send a million thank you's to **Jenny** and **Paris** for their amazing beta skills – especially with this chapter as this was one of the more difficult chapters I had to write. They did a simply wonderful job on making it actually make sense and also, for correcting one _major_ blunder on my part. Oops! I loff you guys. –glomps- 

Of course, I also loff you readers. You guys are what keeps me going. Really. You guys and coffee. And H/D snogging. –drools- Your individual thank you's are at the bottom of this chapter, like always. Enjoy, minna-chan!

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**Chapter Three – The Order**

"Potter!" yelled an enraged voice from just outside Harry's bedroom. "Potter! Get your fucking arse out here _now_!"

Harry blinked, furrowing his brow as he heard the blond stomping through the hallway, up towards his room. From the tone of his voice, he'd be willing to bet several galleons that the Slytherin was rightly pissed.

Harry set down his Potions book and walked the few steps to the door, before opening it and –

"POTTER!"

getting his eardrums blown out by an irate blond. Harry winced and shook his head, trying to get the ringing out of his ears. "Yeah?" he asked in a pained voice.

Malfoy, on the other hand, didn't seem to care one bit that he was in danger of causing the Boy-Who-Lived to go deaf. He glowered into Harry's eyes. "Get your _fucking_ cousin _away_ from me!"

Harry cocked his head to the side just a bit. "Dudley? What's he done?" he asked curiously. Honestly, he couldn't think of a single thing that Dudley could've done to Malfoy. The blond seemed to be perfectly healthy physically, and Dudley hardly had the intelligence to say anything too harsh for the wizard to handle.

Of course, Malfoy also didn't seem to be in an "answering questions" sort of mood today. "Just get him away from me before I bloody hex him to fucking death!"

"Language, Malfoy," Harry chided in amusement. "Anyway, you can't do magic, remember? You're still sixteen."

Malfoy sneered. "Then I'll fucking wring his fat, pudgy neck. Or, better yet, I'll put his fucking hand through that blendy-thing and turn it into a rich hollandaise, before pouring it over his genitals and force-feeding it to him!"

The raven-haired boy instinctively positioned his hands so they were subtly covering his own parts, and cringed. "Really, Malfoy, must you be so graphic?" Trying to shake the nauseous feeling from the pit of his stomach, Harry asked, "What'd he do to you that's got you so royally pissed off, anyway?"

"What's he done to me?" Malfoy repeated rather hysterically. After a few seconds of staring Harry wildly in the eyes, he produced something resembling a shirt. In fact, it looked very similar to one of Malfoy's silk black shirts that he'd bought from Diagon Alley, only it was now torn at the seams and a few buttons were missing.

"Erm…?"

Malfoy began wringing it in his hands. "He said it felt _pretty_ against his _skin_. _Pretty_ against his _skin_, Potter!"

Harry stumbled backwards a few steps. He could distinctly hear the glass of the portraits lined in the hallways shattering. As he looked in Malfoy's eyes, a wave of fear swept over him. Malfoy's eyes were _glowing_. Not bright with anger or glittering with malice, but actually _glowing_, the irises lined with a pulsating silver light. Harry noted vaguely that on Malfoy's forearm, the dragon's tail was lashing about violently.

It was a very frightening image indeed, and Harry wondered how in the hell the other wizard was managing it. Sure, when Harry felt particularly upset, weird things started happening, but to his knowledge, his eyes had never _glowed_.

"Erm…Malfoy? Maybe…maybe you'd better calm down?" he asked unsurely. "I mean, it's not as if you don't have other shirts – and if you'd like, we can go to Diagon Alley tomorrow and get you another one." Anything to calm the storm, Harry thought to himself, even if it meant going bankrupt.

The blond seemed to mull this over. Finally, he seemed to relax somewhat. In a flash of indignity, he balled up the shirt and threw it on the ground, stomping on it furiously. "Burn that for me, will you?" he growled as he stepped past Harry and sat down on the bed, practically burning holes into the wall.

Harry nodded numbly and picked up the discarded former shirt. He threw it into the waste-bin, and with an incantation, set it aflame. Seconds later, he extinguished it with another spell. After a moment or two, he looked back at Malfoy to find the boy sitting tensely, his eyes still glowing but instead of pulsating, they seemed to have reached a calm. The dragon on his forearm looked to have relaxed a bit, but its tail was still waving about dangerously.

"Malfoy…. It was just a shirt, you know," Harry reasoned.

"It was the fucking moral of the thing, Potter," he spat.

Harry fought to hide a grin. Malfoy had morals? How enlightening.

"Yes, _that_ was just a shirt," Malfoy continued. "But if he's already put his grimy hands on that shirt, then I don't even want to begin to imagine what else he's touched and defiled. I'm probably lucky I didn't bring my broom or else who _knows_ what he'd do with that." Malfoy's voice was now evener, but it still held an edge of rage. Harry knew that if anything pissed the other boy off now, all hell would break loose.

"Please, Malfoy, imagery. I don't want to think about what _my cousin_ would do with _your broom_. I have enough nightmares with Voldemort; I don't need you to add _that_ to my list," Harry told him, trying to lighten the mood.

The magic radiating off of Malfoy was suffocating, and Harry found it made him feel tense and vulnerable. It took all his control not to go bolting out the door for some fresh air. He could only hope that Malfoy would just calm down and the magic would disappear.

"Oh believe me," Malfoy seethed, "It's probably ten times better than the current image I have of your cousin practically molesting my shirt."

"Oh, god, Malfoy!" Harry threw a pillow at the blond in disgust. "Enough about Dudley already. It's really disturbing me."

Malfoy fell backwards on to Harry's bed and folded his arms behind his head, causing his shirt to ride up just a few inches above the hem of his pants. "_I'm_ going to need years of fucking therapy to get that shit out of my mind."

Harry smirked in amusement. "You're so colourful when angry, Malfoy. I've never in my life heard someone use the word 'fuck' in one conversation as many times as you. Congratulations."

He promptly found himself being assaulted with a pillow.

**

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It was late. Midnight, to be slightly more specific. A time when most wizards and witches were asleep in their beds, thinking not of the day ahead, but of the plays their subconscious put on for them. This, however, was not the case for a select group of wizards and witches known formally as the Order of the Phoenix.

Since the return of Voldemort, the Order had been called for late-night meetings often, and had always acted with slight bitterness towards the whole ordeal. But this was most definitely not a night to scowl at the rudeness of being called out of bed, or to secretly fall asleep and pretend to be listening to whoever had the floor at the time.

This was a matter of utmost importance.

The Order sat tensely, their countenances betraying just how agitated they really were, even though they put on an air of calm concern. It was nothing they weren't used to, of course. The Order had plenty of meetings that were like this. However, these meetings were never met with good news. Things always seemed to get worse, and their cause seemed to become just a little more out of reach whenever they all assembled with such urgency.

Dumbledore watched the Order calmly, his heavy-lidded eyes sparkling in thought. He was not wondering what in the world could be so important that Severus Snape would call everyone out of his or her bed so very late at night. No, he was concerned about how heavy the news would weigh on the Order's shoulders. For tonight, they would not only hear one update, but two. Two very dreadful updates.

Once Snape saw that he had everyone's attention, he straightened in his chair and cleared his throat. "The reason I have called all of you here is because I have received some rather bad news," he told them in his usual cold voice. He wasn't shocked by the lack of reaction. They were all expecting something horrible. "Lucius Malfoy has recently informed me that young Mister Malfoy was to be taken into the ranks of the Death Eaters."

The faces of the Order were grave. They had expected something like this, but hearing it was another story. "So, I suppose Mister Malfoy won't be coming in the fall, then?" McGonagall asked.

Snape cut her a small look before continuing. "He has also informed me, with much reluctance, that Mister Malfoy wasn't accepted."

This came as a surprise. Lupin furrowed his brow. "I would've thought the Death Eaters were just waiting to get their hands on Mister Malfoy."

"They were. Lucius did not tell me what happened, but he has made it known to me that he has disowned Mister Malfoy for whatever reason. When I asked where he was, Lucius told me that Mister Malfoy had disappeared and he hasn't seen him since then."

McGonagall sighed. "And do you really believe that, Severus?"

"If the Dark Lord ordered him to, Lucius would kill his son without a second thought," Snape murmured vaguely. "But we cannot be entirely sure."

Dumbledore shifted in his seat. "I should probably tell you all that Mister Malfoy is currently safe, and out of Voldemort's hands."

They all turned to him, shock evident on their worried faces.

"He is, in fact, currently staying with one Harry Potter," he continued. "He arrived there shortly before the letters were sent out, accepting both of them to school for this year."

"At Harry's place?" Lupin asked. "Why would he go to Harry's house? I thought they hated each other."

"Oh, they do," Dumbledore replied with a chuckle. "And I suspect they have done nothing but fight the entire time they've been around each other."

"Then why…?" Tonks began to ask.

"Last year, I had a talk with Mister Potter before he left from school. In no uncertain terms, I warned him that if he and Mister Malfoy did not straighten out their rivalry, we might be losing more young witches and wizards to the Dark Lord this summer. I had a similar talk with Mister Malfoy – just telling him his constant conflict with Mister Potter was growing ridiculous and that they needed to grow up.

"But I told Mister Potter that unless he really wanted to face Mister Malfoy and many of his classmates in battle, then he needed to at least make a step in making amends with Mister Malfoy. After all, much of the house rivalry that occurs here is based upon Misters Potter and Malfoy," Dumbledore explained.

Snape narrowed his eyes. "Did he?"

Dumbledore grinned slightly. "Yes, in a manner of speaking. Just before leaving, he confronted Mister Malfoy and told him that if he ever needed anything, Mister Potter would always be there for him. Obviously, Mister Malfoy felt it necessary to take him up on that offer."

Lupin slumped back into his armchair. "I just cannot believe that Malfoy would willingly go to Harry. Doesn't he have other friends?"

"Yes, but think about whose children they are," McGonagall replied.

"Meanwhile, Severus, there was a second part to your news?" Dumbledore prompted.

Snape drew in a deep breath before nodding. "I have also been informed that the Dark Lord has a Mage within his ranks."

Gasps were heard, and a few perplexed looks were cast around the room. "A Mage?" Tonks asked.

"A person with an almost unlimited amount of magical energy, to be vague," announced a voice from the door.

Everyone turned to the source of the voice, blinking blankly or scowling suspiciously. There stood a young woman of about twenty-seven with long reddish-brown hair tied into a neat ponytail at the base of her neck, bright, round brown eyes, and a fair face with high cheekbones and a pert nose. "Sorry I'm late," she apologised to the room.

"And…who are you?" Lupin asked.

The woman smiled, white teeth flashing brilliantly. "The name's Katya Kendrick. I'm going to be the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, and I'm currently the one with the most expertise on Mages in this room," she replied without pausing once.

Before Lupin could introduce himself, Katya nearly ran over to Dumbledore, all traces of her previous smile gone, replaced by lines of seriousness. She turned to face the room, her robes twirling about her dramatically. "Let me just say that the fact that Voldemort has a Mage within his Death Eaters is very…well, hard to believe."

Snape sneered. "Oh? And why is that, exactly?"

"Well, to put it simply, a Mage isn't born a witch or a wizard. They're actually Muggles with abilities to cast certain types of magic," she explained. "And, since Voldemort is purely against the Muggle race, it is quite odd for him to recruit a Muggle, isn't it? He's all for that 'keep it in the family' sort of thing, right?"

"What are the chances that the Mage was born a wizard or a witch?" McGonagall asked.

"No chance whatsoever. Wizards and witches have a gene that cancels out the gene for being a Mage," Katya told her. She brought her ponytail over her shoulder and began twirling it around her fingers. Her brow was furrowed thoughtfully. "Of course, maybe he'd be willing to make an exception for a Mage. After all, Mages are reportedly much stronger than an ordinary witch or wizard – if their abilities are trained at an early age."

"What is a Mage, exactly?" Tonks asked, her eyes bright with curiosity. She had never heard anything about Mages before, and she was certain they weren't part of the curriculum at Hogwarts.

Katya fingered her chin for a moment, as if trying to figure out what to say. "Well," she said slowly after a minute. "Back in ancient times, Mages were some of the very first magic users. They had no use for wands, as they could control their magical output mentally. And they had several other powers that witches and wizards don't have today.

"Mages are very rare because they don't really reproduce. Mages will only ever 'mate' with another Mage, and since they're so uncommon, it is hard for Mages to find someone that compliments them in every way. And if that person is of the same sex, then they obviously cannot reproduce."

"What are their powers?" Lupin asked, interrupting.

Katya didn't seem to mind, though, because she turned to him and cast him a bright smile. "That all depends on their Source, Mr. Wolf!" she exclaimed.

Lupin blinked at the unexpected nickname, and fumbled around for a reply, but found he couldn't come up with one. Instead, he settled for, "Source?"

"Yes! A Mage draws their powers from a Source – something of the Earth that gives them magical powers. Much like a witch or wizard, who draws magic from within themselves."

"And…what would this Source be?" McGonagall asked.

"That depends on the Mage, of course. It's different for each of them because no two Mages can draw magic from one Source. In history, there have been many different things – the physical embodiment of light, animals such as the eagle, swan, and tiger, and even plant-life like roses and holly. It depends on what the Mage most connects with. And once the bond is formed, it's permanent.

"One of the easier ways for a Mage to figure out their Source is by completely opening themselves up to the world; letting themselves being pulled towards it. However, there is a second way. They can simply observe their marks."

"Marks?"

"Every Mage has a Mark. These usually appear when they have been magically tainted by an outside source. Intentionally, not accidentally. Some Mages go their entire lives without seeing them, but those Mages usually have a much harder time tapping into their powers."

"And those powers are?" Lupin asked impatiently.

Katya sent a mild glare towards him. "I'm getting to it, Mr. Wolf. You're so impatient." She drew in a breath. "Mages all have powers that are common among them. These include telepathy with other Mages – although, if a Mage's Source happens to be the antithesis of the Source of the Mage they're trying to talk to, it's pretty much impossible. Also, they have telepathy with their Source, if their Source is a living, breathing object. They also have telekinesis once they've learned how to master it, conjuring items once they've practiced with it enough, and long life. The oldest recorded Mage, I believe, was around 1200. The oldest one living today is Lucien Arnaud who is 947 years old."

"That's all they can do?" asked Tonks.

Katya rolled her eyes quite noticeably. "Well, of course that's not _all_ they can do, Lady Metamorph. I only told you their common powers. Once they realise their Source, they will be able to call upon the powers of that Source. For instance, Lucien Arnaud's Source is the eagle. This has gifted him with the power of flight, wisdom, and incredible sight. He can see magic because of this eyesight, and break down the layers of a spell and find an appropriate comeback. Not to mention that he can control the direction and speed of the wind. He could probably conjure a tornado so huge that it'd wipe out your school with very little effort."

"And how does one go about detecting Mages?" Snape asked.

"All Mages have to be registered with the Ministry and the Ministry does not want any mishaps. So, they use sonograms to detect the Mage gene within a fetus inside of a pregnant Muggle woman. The Muggle woman is completely unaware. A Mage will glow a certain colour – usually bright orange – if they have the Mage gene. If they're normal, they don't glow at all. It's pretty simple, actually."

"They _only_ test Muggles?"

Katya scowled at Snape. "Yes, they _only_ test Muggles. I have already told you – it is completely useless to test pregnant witches as even if the fetus is a Squib, it still has a gene – though recessive – that cancels out the Mage gene."

The Order let this soak in, each mulling it over mentally. If it was all true, if Voldemort really had a Mage serving him, they were all in a whole lot of trouble.

"Is there any possible way to defeat a Mage?" asked Tonks.

Katya sighed and slumped against Dumbledore's desk. "We don't know yet. It's a possibility that a Mage could never be defeated, but that's unlikely. It's possible that only a Mage could ever defeat another Mage – as Mages are on a whole other level than witches and wizards."

"We don't have any Mages on our side, do we?" asked Lupin gloomily.

"Not really, no. Mages usually don't take sides in battles. That Voldemort's got one on his side is a marvel itself."

"Is there anything we can do?"

Katya bit her lip. "We could try to contact a few registered Mages, but I wouldn't get your hopes up. All of them, except for that one Mage Voldemort seems to have, want no part in wars – their people are scarce enough as it is without genocide. But it's not hopeless. We'll just have to find another solution.

"But you know what this means, don't you?" she asked.

The Order members furrowed their brows.

"It means that Harry Potter is no longer safe where he is. A Mage can get past those wards with no problem at all."

Many of the Order's heads fell into their hands, exhaustion lining their bodies. With every day, their glimmer of hope diminished. Now they could barely even tell there had been a glimmer to begin with.

**

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"Your aunt is a horrible, evil woman – and not in the good way, Potter," muttered Malfoy as he struggled with a particularly stubborn weed.

Harry chuckled, pulling up a few weeds himself.

"And look at you – why aren't you using magic?"

Harry blinked and stopped, momentarily stunned at his foolishness. "You're right. I keep forgetting. Habit, you know." Harry took out his wand and muttered a spell that rid his part of the garden of weeds.

"Hey!" Malfoy cried, outraged.

Harry smirked, tucking his wand back into his pocket. "I'm sorry, Malfoy, but I personally think you need to learn about the words 'hard work'."

Malfoy shot him a venomous look. "Oh, I know all about _hard work_, Potter. And my opinion of it hasn't changed – it's still utterly filthy."

Harry ruffled Malfoy's hair, causing steam to practically come from the younger teen's ears. Harry tried to ignore the thought that Malfoy's hair was soft – pleasurably soft. He, of course, took that thought and threw it into the unused portion of his brain so that it would never surface again. "You're just saying that because you've got dirt on your precious, pretty little manicure."

Malfoy's eyes widened in alarm and he looked almost sick as he looked at his fingernails.

Harry held up a pair of tan gloves and waggled them in Malfoy's face. "Gardening gloves, Malfoy – they were invented for a reason."

Malfoy's jaw clenched and Harry could see that Malfoy's knuckles were white around a single pitiful weed. "How. Dare. You-."

Harry gave an impish grin. "I thought you looked cute dirty." At his own statement, Harry's heart and stomach leaped simultaneously, an embarrassed shade of red growing gradually over his face. _Did I just fucking say that?_ he thought incredulously.

"I'm not _cute_ Potter. And I'm certainly not cute _dirty_," Malfoy practically hissed.

Harry's brain was too busy pounding itself into oblivion to really hear what Malfoy was saying. _Oh, Merlin, I hope he didn't catch what I said in the way he probably will catch it. Damn it! What was I thinking? This is fucking **Malfoy**. You don't go around calling your enemy **cute**. Especially when he's **Malfoy**._

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"Fuck! It's going to take bloody _weeks_ to get all of this dirt out from underneath my fingernails!" Malfoy announced as they made their way up towards Harry's room to get ready for their showers.

Harry's eyes widened – no. Their _individual_ showers. There – better. Damn, where were all of these thoughts coming from?

"Ah! Malfoy! What the fuck are you doing!" Harry cried upon coming into his room where he found Draco Malfoy shirtless and about to become pant-less. He tried to ignore the pull to glance over Malfoy's smooth, bare chest, but found that to be very hard indeed.

As Malfoy looked at him, Harry felt his blush increasing in intensity. "I need to change my clothes – they're filthy."

Harry turned abruptly, his arms folded over his chest. "You can do that in the shower, Malfoy," he growled.

There was another rustle of clothing and Harry just new that if he turned around just then, he'd see Malfoy in his boxers – or briefs. Deciding that debating on whether Malfoy wore boxers or briefs was indeed going too far, Harry bit down hard on the inside of his cheek.

"Yes, I know that, Potter," said Malfoy. "But I need to change into something before I get there – something clean. Ugh, I hate feeling all sweaty and bothered."

Harry wanted to bash his own head into the wall at the image that conjured, but decided against it. "Will you just hurry up?" he asked, feeling rather bothered himself though why, he couldn't figure out.

Malfoy made a slight noise of protest as there was another rustle of fabric. Harry hoped dearly that Malfoy was not changing his undergarments too. "You lot shower together after Quidditch practice, don't you? I would think you'd be used to being around naked men, Potter."

_Naked?_ Harry's stomach gave another lurch and it took all of his control not to turn around. "That's different, Malfoy."

"How is that different?" he asked. Another rustle of fabric.

"It…just is," he said decidedly.

"If you say so." There was another rustle of fabric and then footsteps. "You know, you're being really strange today, Potter," said a voice right by Harry's ear.

Harry spun quickly, coming face-to-face with Malfoy in such a proximity that was uncomfortable to the dark-haired teen, even though there was plenty of space between them. Malfoy was still shirtless, though wearing a pair of comfortable-looking silk black pyjama pants that hung low on his hips. "I-I am not," he protested weakly.

Malfoy furrowed his brow and then placed a hand on Harry's head. He blushed even more. "You're hot, Potter." Harry made a strangled noise. "I think you might be coming down with something," Malfoy murmured.

"Maybe that's it," Harry muttered, wishing Malfoy's hand would just go away, as well as Malfoy's naked torso.

Draco removed his hand and narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. "I'm going to go take my shower now," he said slowly and watched as another blush crept over Potter's cheeks. His eyes narrowed even further.

When he went to step by him, he was startled to find that Potter had grabbed his hand. Draco turned and looked at him, surprise written all over his face. Potter wasn't even looking at him, but he had out his wand. The other teen took Draco's other hand as well and muttered, "_Scourgify_," and the dirt underneath Draco's fingernails became nonexistent.

"What-?"

"You're the prissiest person when it comes to your nails, Malfoy," Potter said. He locked eyes with Draco. "Hurry up on your shower. I don't like being covered in grime either."

With that said, Potter released Draco, walked over to his desk, and pulled out a book. Draco cocked his head to the side, nodded, and walked towards the bathroom.

**

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**_I am so stupid! Stupid, stupid, stupid!_ Harry continued to cry in his thoughts repeatedly as he walked from the bathroom, clad in a pair of loose red cotton pyjama bottoms, a loose cotton navy-blue shirt, and a towel hung over his shoulder. His hair was nearly dripping wet – not like Malfoy's had been when he exited the shower, his hair perfectly in place. How the blond managed to do it without magic was a mystery to him, and quite frankly, he was just slightly jealous. 

Harry opened the door to his room. "Hey, Malfoy, you left your fancy shampoo in…. Lupin?"

Indeed, there was Lupin. And Tonks. And Kingsley Shacklebolt. And Malfoy, who was leaning up against the wall, keeping a watchful eye on those around him. Of course, seeing as the Order delegates were looking at him as if he was a particularly wild animal they were not altogether convinced was tame, this was understandable. "Nice imagery there, Potter," Malfoy commented dryly.

"How…what…what's going on here?" he asked, his eyes wide and the previously mentioned shampoo bottle completely forgotten.

Lupin turned towards him. "Listen, Harry, we have received news and you aren't safe here anymore."

Harry narrowed his stare. "What do you mean I'm not safe here anymore? Voldemort can't touch me with those wards up all over this house, right?"

Lupin sighed. "We have reason to believe he has found a way."

Harry blinked, his eyes betraying a note of fear that refused to surface on his face or in his voice. "I see."

Harry walked into his room and set Malfoy's shampoo bottle on his desk. Then he took out his wand and began summoning things to pack. "You lot don't seem too worried about Malfoy. Not that you should be -- he's not going to kill me or anything. If he wanted to do that, he could've done so a long time ago," he said in a dead sort of voice.

Draco sunk slowly onto the bed, but barely noticed his own movements. He was intrigued by the sound of Potter's voice – so desolate and hollow. Not once had he heard Potter speak with such hopelessness, and was rather affected by it. It was somewhat…disturbing. "Where are you going?" he asked curiously.

Potter sighed. "To my godfather's house." Once his trunk was packed, he turned back towards Draco. "You're welcome to come, if you'd like. We're pretty much in the same boat, I assume."

Draco's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "No, I don't think we are. The Dark Lord isn't trying to bloody kill me every minute of every day."

Potter shrugged. "It's your choice."

Draco shoved his hands into his pockets and looked away. He nodded.

"Okay then," Potter said as he did another round of summoning spells that packed Draco's trunk as well.

**

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**

"This is it?" Draco asked, grimacing at the condition of the building that served as Order headquarters.

"Yeah, this is it," Potter sighed. "Oh, when you first enter, be quiet in the hallway, or be prepared to have your eardrums blown out."

Draco blinked, confused, but nodded and followed Potter into number 12 Grimmauld Place. As he entered, he gave a scoff of distaste. The whole place looked as if it had been abandoned years ago, tattered and torn and probably rotting from the inside out.

"Harry, Ron and Hermione are already here. Hermione's settled in a room with Ginny, while Ron's already set up in another room. I…guess Malfoy could stay in there with you?" Shacklebolt informed him in a whisper.

Potter nodded and quietly ascended the staircase towards his room. "You could stay with me and Ron, or you could go stay with Fred and George – it's up to you."

Draco raised his eyebrows and set his trunk down next to Potter's. "I…think I'll stay here. One Weasley is better than two."

Potter rolled his eyes and looked around. "I wonder where Ron is," he muttered. He checked his watch. "It's dinner time, so I guess they're all downstairs." He looked back up at Draco. "You hungry?"

Draco stretched, pulling one arm over his head with the other. "Not particularly, no. But I could use some coffee."

Potter blinked, seemingly shocked. "Malfoy, it's past seven."

Draco gave him a bored look. "Your point?"

Potter opened his mouth, and closed it again. "Never mind. Come on, I think they might have coffee."

"They had better," Draco mumbled as he followed Potter downstairs.

**

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**

When Harry walked into the dining room with Malfoy, he hadn't expected quite a shock to run through the inhabitants. Most just stared, some narrowed their eyes, and Ron was absolutely livid. They had all known that Malfoy had been staying with Harry, but to see him suddenly show up like this….

Well.

"What the _hell_ is _Malfoy_ doing here, Harry!" Ron cried, looking up from his meal.

"Ronald!" his mother cried at his language.

Malfoy steeled himself and crossed his arms defensively. His eyes kept darting from one face to the next suspiciously, as if they had every intention of hexing him – which, in this case, some looked about ready to do.

"Remember what I said at Diagon Alley, Ron?" Harry asked, subconsciously moving in front of Malfoy. Why he was feeling so protective, he didn't know.

Ron gritted his teeth. "Yeah, you said something about him leaving home for some reason and coming to stay with you."

"Yes, well, obviously Ron, that's still in effect."

"So now he's your little puppy? Follows you wherever you go?" he prodded.

Malfoy sucked in a breath and looked about ready to storm up to Ron and beat the living shit out of him. "I am nobody's _puppy_, Weasley. I simply have nowhere else to go."

"So just because you have nowhere to go, you get to come here like you _aren't_ the son of some Death Eater?" Ron snapped. "Harry, for all you know, this could be some trick to get you for You-Know-Who."

"I don't think that's what it is, Ron. I didn't say you had to trust him. In fact, I don't even trust him. But I don't think he's…on that path anymore."

Ron's eye twitched, but he said nothing. He began stabbing his mashed potatoes with a fervour that caused them to land in Ginny's soup. Ginny glared at him and shoved her soup away.

"Fine, be that way, Ron. I don't care anymore." With that, Harry stormed off.

"Harry!" Hermione called after him, but to no use. Shooting a glare at Ron that clearly said, "I'll deal with _you_ later," Hermione hurried after Harry, pushing past Malfoy.

Draco looked after them for a moment before turning back to the crowd that looked about ready to perform several unpleasant curses on him at once; he steeled himself once more and smirked. "Would you happen to have any coffee?"

Draco took their glares and complete silence as a "no."

**

* * *

**

Hermione found Harry in his room, sitting hunched over on his bed, glaring angrily at a spot on the floor. She tentatively walked up to him, sat next to him, and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Harry, please don't be angry at Ron – he's only worried about you," she pleaded in a quiet voice.

Harry didn't look at her. "Well, I wish he'd be a little less worried about me, 'Mione," he growled. "Sometimes he can be such a prat – not seeing past his rivalry to see that Malfoy's changed."

Hermione sighed. "Don't be so harsh, Harry. We haven't had the time to get to know Malfoy like you have. You can't blame Ron for being as suspicious as he is. And, considering his history with Malfoy, it's harder for him to accept that maybe Malfoy isn't as Dark as he wants to believe. You have to look at it from his point of view."

Harry finally looked at her, his eyes searching. "Do you feel the same way as Ron?"

Hermione considered this carefully. "In some ways, yes, I am as skeptical to believe that Malfoy's truly turned. But your faith in him – well, that's something, isn't it?"

Harry snorted. "Malfoy's not truly turned, 'Mione. He's just not on Voldemort's side anymore."

Hermione smiled at this. "That's something, too, then. I don't think I could handle a Malfoy that is truly turned."

Harry made a face. "Me neither."

"And I'd most likely kill myself before I'd ever let that happen," said a voice from the door.

The two friends looked up to see Malfoy leaning carelessly against the doorframe, a cup of piping hot coffee in his hand, his other hand tucked in his pants' pocket.

Hermione smiled nervously. "Malfoy…erm…hello," she tried pathetically.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "Weasley's down there having a conniption fit. You might want to go check on him."

Hermione's eyes widened. "What did you do?" she asked quietly.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "I didn't _do_ anything, per say. I just told him that I've been living with Potter here. And when someone asked me where I slept, because they hadn't seen another bed, I told them quite frankly that I was sleeping with Potter. Somehow," Malfoy added with a smirk, "that didn't go over quite well with your little boyfriend."

Hermione narrowed her eyes and looked from Harry to Malfoy, back and forth, for about a second before Harry's own eyes widened and a blush quickly spread over his face. "Oh! No, he's just being a git, 'Mione. We haven't…erm…that. Don't be gross!"

Hermione nodded, but didn't look convinced as she left the two boys to themselves.

Malfoy chuckled. "I think your friend Weasley's psyche is permanently damaged, Potter. I don't think he'll ever recover." He began walking over.

Harry glared. "You're just a bastard. He's known that for years. I'm sure he'll get over your traumatic presence."

Malfoy scowled, but it really didn't have much edge to it. "Well, seeing as I'm a bastard, I suppose I'll take your coffee and down it myself."

Harry blinked, thrown. "You…brought me coffee?" Now that he looked closer, he could see two cups in Malfoy's hand.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Don't say it like I'm doing something nice. I'm not doing anything nice, Potter," he assured him as he sat down next to the dark-haired teen. He shoved the coffee in Harry's free hands. "But you've been in a right horrible mood ever since those idiots showed up, and coffee is nature's underage cure for everything."

"So," Harry said as he sipped at the steaming liquid. "Your motives are purely selfish then?"

Malfoy nodded. "Absolutely. My motives are always selfish. Never forget that."

Harry chuckled. "You're a piece of work, Malfoy."

Malfoy raised his eyebrows. "No, I'm a masterpiece."

"Conceited bastard," Harry mumbled in his cup.

**

* * *

**

**Afterword:** So? Any thoughts? Critique? Anything! Absolutely any and every little thing is welcome. Well, except for flames. But if you want to flame, I understand. And I'll use that flame to keep me toasty in my overly-cold room. -grins- Please review! I live off of those things. Honestly.

**Phoegan Leisha**: I'm glad! Thanks!

**Ebonbird**: Hehe. Well, I have a third chapter for you, if that makes you feel any better. The tattoo will come in time of course, and why Harry can see it as well. And about the AK's -- they just bounce off of him. I don't think it'll hurt the storyline if I tell you that, ne? Yeah, I've noticed that Ron gets shoved to the side a bit in many H/D fics -- well, I'll try not to make this one of them, but it might happen. I don't really know right now. Ron has a bigger part in this chapter, I think, even though it's rather small. -grins- Yeah, I thought Draco in a "Ramones" t-shirt would be oddly amusing. I'd love to see if he'd actually wear one, or if he'd actually enjoy the music. Well, I paired him with Nott just because everyone already pairs him with Zabini. It's also because of JKR's comment about one scene she took out of CoS with Nott and Draco at Malfoy Manor. So, I sort of think they have a history and since Blaise is mainly a throw-away character anyway, I figured this was important. Not to say that Blaise will be a throw-away character in here. I love Blaise with all my heart -- I'd never do that to him. -pets Blaise- Thank you for reading and I'm glad you enjoyed it! I'll try my best to get Nott into one of these chapters -- but you know him, hates being part of a crowd... -sigh-

**sae**: -grins- I hope you like this chapter then. I think I elaborated more on why Harry offered his help to Draco, but I could probably insert a chapter on how Harry felt about this in detail, don't you think? -shrugs- But I'm very happy you like my characterisations of Harry and Draco. I intended them to be that way because that's the way I love them. -huggles Harry and Draco- I love spoiled, pompous Draco. I can't see him as anything but.

**bobkins**: I'm glad you like it! My summary is better at Schnoogle, isn't it? It's because ffnet doesn't really allow you to say too much in your summary. And, well, I updated! Hehe. Hope you like!

**jennaymai**: Haha! Don't you just love seeing your name in print? -sighs dreamily- I want to see my name in print someday! It'll be so exciting! Of course! What kind of person would I be if I didn't reply to your review? I'd feel so incredibly horrible! Hehehe...long one-liner reviews! I suppose there really is such a thing! At least it's not a short one-liner review, ne? We all know how berserk I'd go if I got one of those. -stares- I didn't update soon! Oh, no! Did you hurt anything when you thrashed? Did you break anything? Will I be responsible for any damage fees? -cries- Hehehe... Talk to you later! And I'll respond to your email sometime in the near future...grrr...real life sucks, doesn't it? Totally sucks.

**shroom**: Thank you!

**Chloe**: Thanks so much! I'm glad you like.

**Brenna8**: Hehehe, seemed like the sort of reaction Harry would have. It certainly is the sort of reaction I would have. Well, your request is my command: here is chapter three!

**Akana Dragon**: I'm glad you like it! I admit, I used to write those types of stories (though, they were usually Gundam Wing/Sailor Moon) but thanks to my own improvement over the past couple of years and primarily the wonderfulness of my betas, I no longer have that problem. -glomps betas again-

**Chesza**


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